Falling Together by S.K. Grayson

Author:S.K. Grayson [Grayson, S.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Daisywolf Publishing
Published: 2016-12-25T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

Evan called Cop when he was finished, which was about eight, just as Bart had guessed. Cop didn’t answer, so he left a message with his address. When he got home, Cop sat waiting on the concrete steps leading up to his low front porch, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together between them. The streetlight kept him from being in the dark, but Evan had neglected to leave his porch light on.

Cop stood as Evan approached, hovered there for a moment, then turned and stepped onto the porch off to the side so Evan could pass him easily and unlock the door.

“So, Noss is the hometown where you can’t be yourself. We were going to the same place all along,” Cop said, as soon as the door was closed. “Who’d have guessed?”

“Not me,” he said softly. He put his hands in his pockets and glanced around his living room. It was tidy, but despite his rearrangements, he guessed the room still looked better suited for a grandma than a thirty-something school teacher. He hadn’t added any touches of his own, and it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment how little of himself was reflected in his home.

“Want a beer?” he asked, already walking toward the kitchen.

“I want you,” Cop said bluntly, following. “But a beer will do for now.”

Evan shivered as the words worked their way up his spine. He turned in the kitchen doorway and found Cop directly behind him, close enough to grab. “Cop . . . I didn’t ask you here for that.”

“Sure you did. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.” Cop brushed past him and stepped into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. Like when he’d taken his car that morning at the motel, Cop made himself at home with Evan and his things in a way Evan wouldn’t have tolerated from anybody else. Why did it seem okay with Cop?

Evan took the beer Cop handed him and sat at the kitchen table. Cop shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on the chair across from him. He didn’t sit, but faced Evan with his back against the kitchen counter, leaning casually.

“We’re going to have a kitchen table conversation then, not even going to the couch?” He took a long drag on his bottle.

“I—I just wanted you to understand where I’m coming from. I grew up here, and people don’t . . . they’re not . . . tolerant. I’m not out here, and I want to keep it that way.”

“I don’t believe in outing people against their wishes.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“But you’re wrong about this town. Things have changed.”

Evan picked at the edge of the beer label with his thumbnail. “I don’t see it. When I was a kid, you got called a pussy if you didn’t like getting tackled to the ground, or if you liked anything remotely artistic. I wanted to take dance when I was a kid, and you’d have thought it was the end of the world.

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